"I already know something about it from my maid," said she. "Jack
Holliday was there, wasn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And some women?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How many, Samuel?"

"Four, Miss Gladys."

"Tell me about them, Samuel. What sort of women were they?"

It was very hard for Samuel to answer these questions. He blushed as
he talked; but Miss Gladys appeared not at all disconcerted--in fact
she was greedy for the details.

"You say her name was Belle. I wonder if it was that girl from 'The
Maids of Mandelay.' Was she a dancer, Samuel?"

"I don't know, Miss Gladys."

"And what became of her?"

"I took her to a hotel, Miss Gladys."

"And what then?"

Samuel stopped short. "I really couldn't tell you," he said.

"But why not?"

"Because I promised."

"Whom did you promise?"

"I promised the sergeant, Miss Gladys."

"The sergeant! A policeman, you mean?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"But what--what did the police have to do with it?"

"They took me to jail, Miss Gladys. They thought that I did it."

"Did what?"

And again the boy shut his lips.

"Listen, Samuel," pleaded the other. "You know that I am Bertie's
cousin. And he's all alone. And I'm responsible for him--"

"Oh, Miss Gladys!" cried the boy. "If you only would try to help him!
I meant to ask you--"

"But how can I help him if you keep me in ignorance?"

And so Samuel blurted out the whole story. And Miss Gladys sat dumb
with horror. "She killed herself! She killed herself!" she gasped
again and again.

"Yes, Miss Gladys," said Samuel. "And it was awful! You can't imagine
it!"

"I read of the suicide in the paper. But I never dreamed of Bertie!"

There was a moment's pause. "It must be a dreadful thing for him to
have on his conscience"--began the boy.

"He must have been frightened to death!" said she. And then she added
quickly, "Samuel, you haven't told anyone about this!"

"Not a soul, Miss Gladys."

"You are sure?"

"I'm sure, ma'am."

"You didn't tell Dr. Vince?"

"I just told him that I had left because Master Albert got drunk, Miss
Gladys. That was the truth."

"Yes," said she; and then, "You always tell the truth, don't you,
Samuel?"

"I try to," he replied.

"You are very good, aren't you?" she added.

Samuel blushed. "No," he said gravely. "I'm not good at all."

The other looked at him for a moment, and then a smile crossed her
face. "I've heard a saying," she remarked--"'Be good and you'll be
happy, but you'll miss a lot of fun.'"

Samuel pondered. "I think that is a very terrible saying," he declared
earnestly.

Miss Gladys laughed. And she went on to cross-question him as to the
suicide--satisfying her curiosity as to the last hideous detail.

Then she looked at Samuel and asked suddenly, "Why do you wear that
hideous thing?"

Samuel started. "What thing?" he asked.

"That tie!"

"Why!" he said--"I got that specially--"

He stopped, embarrassed; and the other's peal of laughter rang through
the room. "Take it off!" she said.

She got up and came to him, saying, "I couldn't stand it."


With trembling fingers he removed the tie. And she took off the
beautiful red ribbon that was tied about her waist, and cut it to the
right length. "Put that on," she said, "and I'll show you how to tie
it."

And Samuel stood there, rapt in a sudden nightmare ecstasy. She was
close to him, her quick fingers were playing about his throat. Her
breath was upon his face, and the intoxicating perfume of her filled
his nostrils. The blood mounted into his face, and the veins stood out
upon his forehead, and strange and monstrous things stirred in the
depths of him.

"There," she said, "that's better"--and stepped back to admire the
result. She smiled upon him radiantly. "You have no taste, Samuel,"
she said. "I shall have to educate you."

"Yes, Miss Gladys," he responded in a low voice.

"And listen," she went on, "you will come to see Sophie now and then,
won't you?"

"Yes, yes," he said quickly.

"And come some time when I am here."

He caught his breath and gripped his hands and answered yet again,
"Yes!"

"Don't be afraid of me," added the girl gently. "You don't appreciate
yourself half enough, Samuel."

Then there came voices in the hall, and Miss Gladys turned, and the
housekeeper and Sophie came in. "Well?" she asked.

"She doesn't know anything at all," said Mrs. Harris. "But if you want
her taught--I suppose she could run errands and do sewing--"

"Very good," said the other. "And pay her well. Will you like that,
Sophie?"

"Yes, Miss," whispered the child in a faint voice. She was gazing in
awe and rapture at this peerless being, and she could hardly find
utterance for two words.

"All right, then," said Miss Gladys, "that will do very well. You come
to-morrow, Sophie. And good-by, Samuel. I must go for my ride now."

"Good-by, Miss Gladys," said Samuel. "And please don't forget what you
were going to say to Master Albert!"




CHAPTER XVIII


Samuel went home walking upon air. He had found a place for himself
and a place for Sophie. And he had got the reforming of Bertie Lockman
under way! Truly, the church was a great institution--the solution of
all the puzzles and problems of life. And fortunate was Samuel to be
so close to the inner life of things!

Then suddenly, on a street corner, he stopped short. A sign had caught
his eye-"John Callahan, Wines and Liquors--Bernheimer Beer." "Do you
know what that place is?" he said to Sophie. "That's where my friend
Finnegan works."

"Who's Finnegan?" asked the child.

"He's the barkeeper who gave me something to eat when I first came to
town. He's a good man, even if he is a barkeeper."

Samuel had often found himself thinking of Finnegan; for it had been
altogether against his idea of things that a man so obviously well
meaning should be selling liquor. And now suddenly a brilliant idea
flashed across his mind. Why should he continue selling liquor? And
instantly Samuel saw a new duty before him. He must help Finnegan.

And forgetting that it was time for his dinner, he bade good-by to
Sophie and went into the saloon.

"Well, young feller!" exclaimed the Irishman, his face lighting up
with pleasure; and then, seeing the boy's new collar and tie, "Gee,
you're moving up in the world!"

"I've got a job," said Samuel proudly. "I'm the assistant sexton at
St. Matthew's Church."

"You don't say! Gone up with the sky pilots, hey!"

Samuel did not notice this irreverent remark. He looked around the
place and saw that they were alone. Then he said, very earnestly, "Mr.
Finnegan, may I have a few minutes' talk with you?"

"Sure," said Finnegan perplexed. "What is it?"

"It's something I've been thinking about very often," said Samuel.
"You were so kind to me, and I saw that you were a good-hearted man.
And so it has always seemed to me too bad that you should be selling
drink."

The other stared at him. "Gee!" he said, "are you going to take me up
in your airship?"

"Mr. Finnegan," said the boy, "I wish you wouldn't make fun of me. For
I'm talking to you out of the bottom of my heart."

And Samuel gazed with so much yearning in his eyes that the man was
touched, in spite of the absurdity of it. "Go on," he said. "I'll
listen."

"It's just this," said Samuel. "It's wrong to sell liquor! Think what
drink does to men? I saw a man drunk the other night and it led to
what was almost murder. Drink makes men cruel and selfish. It takes
away their self-control. It makes them unfit for their work. It leads
to vice and wickedness. It enslaves them and degrades them. Don't you
know that is true, Mr. Finnegan?"

"Yes," admitted Finnegan, "I reckon it is. I never touch the stuff
myself."

"And still you sell it to others?"

"Well, my boy, I don't do it because I hate them."

"But then, why DO you do it?"

"I do it," said Finnegan, "because I have to live. It's my trade--it's
all I know."

"It seems such a terrible trade!" exclaimed the boy.

"Maybe," said the other. "But take notice, it ain't a princely one.
I'm on the job all day and a good part of the night, and standing up
all the time. And I don't get no holidays either--and I only get
twelve a week. And I've a wife and a new baby. So what's a man to do?"

Now, strange as it may seem, this unfolded a new view to Samuel. He
had always supposed that bartenders and saloonkeepers were such from
innate depravity. Could it really be that they were driven to the
trade?

The bare idea was enough to set his zeal in a blaze. "Listen," he
said. "Suppose I were to find you some kind of honest work, so that
you could earn a living. Would you promise to reform?"

"Do you mean would I quit Callahan's? Why, sure I would."

"Ah!" exclaimed the boy in delight.


"But it'd have to be a steady job," put in the other. "I can take no
chances with the baby."

"That's all right," said Samuel. "I'll get you what you want."

"Gee, young feller!" exclaimed Finnegan. "Do you carry 'em round in
your pockets?"

"No," said Samuel, "but Dr. Vince asked me to help him; and I'm going
to tell him about you."

And so, forthwith, he made his way to the doctor's house, and was
ushered into the presence of the unhappy clergyman. He stated his
case; and the other threw up his hands in despair.

"Really," he exclaimed, "this is too much, Samuel! I can't find
employment for everyone in Lockmanville."

"But, doctor!" protested Samuel, "I don't think you understand. This
man wants to lead a decent life, and he can't because there's no way
for him to earn a living."

"I understand all that Samuel."

"But, doctor, what's the use of trying to reform men if they're
chained in that way?"

There was a pause.

"I'm afraid it's hopeless to explain to you," said the clergyman. "But
you'll have to make up your mind to it, Samuel--there are a great many
men in the world who want jobs, and it seems to be unfortunately true
that there are fewer jobs than men."

"Yes," said the other, "but that's what Professor Stewart taught men.
And you said it was wicked of him."

"Um--" said the doctor, taken aback.

"Don't you see?" went on Samuel eagerly. "It puts you right back with
Herbert Spencer! If there are more men than there are jobs, then the
men have to fight for them. And so you have the struggle for
existence, and the survival of the greedy and the selfish. If Finnegan
wouldn't be a barkeeper, then he and his family would starve, and
somebody else would survive who was willing to be that bad."

The boy waited. "Don't you see that, Dr. Vince? "he persisted.

"Yes, I see that," said the doctor.

"And you told me that the only way to escape from that was to live for
others--to serve them and help them. And isn't that what I'm trying to
do?"

"Yes, my boy, that is so. But what can we do?"

"Why, doctor, aren't you the head of the church? And the people come
to you to be taught. You must point out these things to them, so that
there can be a change."

"But WHAT change, Samuel?"

"I don't know, sir. I'm groping around and trying to find out. But I'm
sure of one thing--that some people have got too much money. Why, Dr.
Vince, there are people right in your church who have more than they
could spend in hundreds of years."

"Perhaps so," said the other. "But what harm does that do?"

"Why--that's the reason that so many others have nothing! Only realize
it--right at this very moment there are people starving to death--and
here in Lockmanville! They want to work, and there is no work for
them! I could take you to see them, sir--girls who want a job in Mr.
Wygant's cotton mill, and he won't give it to them!"

"But, my boy--that isn't Mr. Wygant's fault! It's because there is too
much cloth already."

"I've been thinking about that," said Samuel earnestly. "And it
doesn't sound right to me. There are too many people who need good
clothes. Look at poor Sophie, for instance!"

"Yes," said the other, "of course. But they haven't money to buy the
cloth---"

And Samuel sat forward in his excitement. "Yes, yes!" he cried. "And
isn't that just what I said before? They have no money, because the
rich people have it all!"

There was no reply; and after a moment Samuel rushed on: "Surely it is
selfish of Mr. Wygant to shut poor people out of his mill, just
because they have no money. Why couldn't he let them make cloth for
themselves?"

"Samuel!" protested the other. "That is absurd!"

"But why, sir?"

"Because, my boy--in a day they could make more than they could wear
in a year."

"So much the better, doctor! Then they could give the balance to other
people who needed it--and the other people could make things for them.
Take Sophie. She not only needs clothing, she needs shoes, and above
all, she needs enough to eat. And if it's a question of there
 not being enough food, look at what's wasted in a place like Master
Albert's! And there's land enough at 'Fairview' to raise food for the
whole town--I know what I'm talking about there, because I'm a farmer.
And it's used to keep a lot of race horses that nobody ever rides."

"Samuel," said the clergyman gravely, "that is true--and that is very
wrong. But what can _I_ do?"

And Samuel stared at him. "Doctor!" he exclaimed. "I can't tell you
how it hurts me to have you talk to me like that!"

"How do you mean, Samuel?" asked the other in bewilderment.

And the boy clasped his hands together in his agitation. "You told me
that we must sacrifice ourselves, and help others! You said that was
our sole duty! And I believed you--I was ready to go with you. And
here I am--I want to follow you, and you won't lead!"

Those words were like a stab. The doctor winced visibly.

And Samuel winced also--his heart was wrung. "It hurts me more than I
can tell you!" he cried. "But think of the people who are suffering--
nobody spares them! And how can you be silent, doctor--how can the
shepherd of Christ be silent while some of his flock are living in
luxury and others are starving to death?"

There was a long pause. Dr. Vince sat rigid, clutching the arms of his
chair.

"Samuel," he said, "you are right. I will preach on this unemployed
question next Sunday."

"Ah, thank you, sir--thank you!" exclaimed Samuel, with tears of
gratitude in his eyes. And he took his friend's hand and wrung it.

Then, suddenly, a new thought came to him. "And meantime, doctor,"
said he, "what am I to tell Finnegan?"




CHAPTER XIX


One who has all the cares of humanity upon his shoulders, as Samuel
had, is apt to find that it claims a good deal of time. Samuel did his
best to keep his mind upon the weighty problems which he had to solve;
but he found that he was continually distracted by the thought of Miss
Gladys. Again and again her image would sweep over him, driving
everything else from his mind. The vision of her beauty haunted him,
sending his imagination upon all sorts of strange excursions and
adventures.

She had told him to come again; and he wondered how long he should
wait. He was supposed to come to see Sophie--but that, of course, was
absurd, for he saw Sophie every night at home.

He waited three days; and then he could wait no longer. The hunger to
see her was like a fire smoldering in him.

In the morning, at eleven o'clock, he went to the house and Sophie
came to the door. "I'll tell her you're here," said she, understanding
at once. She ran upstairs, and came back telling him to come. "And
she's glad, Samuel!" exclaimed the child.

"Won't you come, too?" he asked blunderingly.

"No, she told me not to," was Sophie's reply.

So he went upstairs to Miss Wygant's own sitting room, and found her
in a morning gown, even more beautiful than the one she had worn
before.

"You don't know how glad I am to see you," she said.

Samuel admitted that he didn't know; and he added, "And I don't know
why you should be, Miss Gladys."

Miss Gladys stood looking at him. "You find things interesting, don't
you?" she asked.

"Why, yes, Miss Gladys," he replied.

"And I find things so tiresome."

"Tiresome!" gasped the boy. "Here--in this house!"

"It seems strange to you, does it?" said she.

"Why you have everything in the world!" he cried.

"Yes, and I'm tired of everything."

The boy was looking at her in wonder. "It's true," she said.
"Everybody I meet is uninteresting--they live such dull and stupid
lives. I'm shut up here in this town--I've got to spend a whole month
here this summer!"

Samuel gazed at her, and a wave of pity swept over him. He had felt
for some time that she was not happy. So here was one more duty for
him--he must help this beautiful young lady to a realization of her
own good fortune.

The thought set him athrill. "Ah, but Miss Gladys!" he exclaimed.
"Think how much good you do!"

"Good?" said she. "In what way?"

"Why--think of Sophie! How happy you've made her."

"Yes," she said dully. "I suppose so."

"And me!" he exclaimed.

"Have I made you happy?" she inquired.

And he answered, "I have never been so happy in my life."

All the wonder that was in his soul shone in his eyes, and arrested
her gaze. They stood looking at each other; and then she came to him
laughing. "Samuel," she said, "you haven't got that tie right."

And once more her fingers touched him, and her breath was upon him,
and the glory of her set him on fire. A new wave of feeling swept over
him, and this time it swamped him completely. His heart was pounding,
his brain was reeling; and blindly, like a drunken man--almost without
knowing what he was doing--he put out his arms and caught her to him.

And then, in an instant, horror seized him. What had he done? She
would repel him--she would drive him from her! He had ruined
everything!

But another instant sufficed to show him that this was not the case.
And the tide of his feeling swept back redoubled. From the hidden
regions of his soul there came new emotions, suddenly awakened--things
tremendous and terrifying--never guessed by him before. His manhood
came suddenly to consciousness--he lost all his shyness and fear of
her. She was his--to do what he pleased with! And he pressed her to
him, he half crushed her in his embrace. She closed her eyes, and he
kissed her upon the cheeks and upon the lips; then he heard her voice,
faint and trembling--"Samuel, I love you!" And within him it was like
a great fanfare of trumpets, for wonder and triumph and delirious joy.

Suddenly there came a step in the hall outside. They sprang apart. The
door of the room was open; and for an instant he saw wild terror in
her eyes.

Then she sank down upon her knees. "Oh, Samuel!" she exclaimed. "My
ring!"

"Your ring!" he echoed, dazed.

"My ring!" she said again; then he heard the voice of Mrs. Harris in
the doorway. "Your ring, Miss Gladys?"

"I dropped it," she said; and Samuel sank down upon his knees also.

They sought under the table. "It fell here," she said. "It's my
solitaire."

"It must have rolled," said Mrs. Harris, beginning to search.

"Put your head down and look about, Samuel," commanded Miss Gladys,
and Samuel obeyed; but he did not find any ring.

They continued the search for a minute. Mrs. Harris had come back to
the table; and suddenly she exclaimed, "Here it is!"

"What!" cried the other. "Why, I looked there!"

"It was under the leg of the table," explained the housekeeper.

"Ah!" said the other, and put the precious ring back upon her finger.

Samuel was overwhelmed with astonishment; but it was nothing to what
he felt a moment later. His goddess turned to him. "No," she said.
"I'm sorry, Samuel, but it's impossible for me to do what you ask me."

He stared at her perplexed.

"I have found a place for Sophie," she went on, "and that is
positively all I can do."

"Miss Gladys!" he exclaimed.

"Really," she said, "I think you ought not to ask me to do any more. I
understand that there is a good deal of suffering among the mill
people, and I do what I can to relieve it. But as for taking all the
employees into my father's household--that is simply absurd."

The boy could not find words. He could only stare at her. "That's
all," said Miss Gladys. "And about those flower seeds--do what you can
to find them. I want them in a few days, if I'm to use them at all. Do
you understand?"

"Y-yes, Miss Gladys," he stammered. He had seen her dart a swift
glance at the housekeeper, and he was beginning at last to comprehend.

"Bring them to me yourself," she added. "Good-by."

"Good-by, Miss Gladys," he said, and went out.

He went downstairs, marveling. But before he was halfway down the
first flight of steps he had forgotten everything except those
incredible words--"Samuel, I love you!" They rang in his head like a
trumpet call.

He could not hold himself in. He could not carry away such a secret.
Sophie went to the door with him; and he took her outside and
whispered it to her.

The child stared at him, with awe in her eyes. "Samuel!" she
whispered, "she must mean to marry you!"

The boy started in dismay. "Marry me!" he gasped. "Marry me!"

"Why, yes!" said Sophie. "What else can she mean?"

That was a poser. "But--but--" he cried. "It's absurd!"

"It's not, Samuel! She loves you!"

"But I'm nothing but a poor boy!"

"But, Samuel, she has plenty of money!"

It had not occurred to Samuel that way; but he had to admit that it
was true. "But I'm not good enough," he protested.

"You are good enough for anyone!" cried Sophie. "You are noble and
beautiful--and she has found it out. And she means to stoop and lift
you up to her."

The boy was silent, stricken with awe. "Oh, Samuel, it is just like in
the fairy stories!" whispered the child. "You are to be the prince!"

So she went on, pouring out the wonder of it to him, and thrilling his
soul to yet new flights.

He left her at last and walked down the street half dazed. He was to
marry Miss Gladys! Yes, it must be true, for she had told him that she
loved him! And then, presumably, he would come to live in that great
palace. How could he ever stand it? What would he do?

And he would be a rich man! A great surge of triumph came to him. What
would the people at home say--what would his brothers think when he
went to pay them a visit, and perhaps to buy the old place?

But he put these thoughts away from him. He must not think of such
things--it was selfish and ignoble. He must think of the good that he
would be able to do with all the money. He might help the poor at
last. He and Miss Gladys would devote their lives to this. Perhaps
some day he might even own the mill where the children worked, and he
would be able to send them all to school! And he would be a member of
the Lockman family, in a way--he might even have some influence over
Master Albert! And Ethel and Dr. Vince--how happy they would be when
they heard of his good fortune!

In the end his thoughts left all these things, and came back to Miss
Gladys. After all, what counted but that? She loved him! She was his!
And like a swiftly spreading fire there came over him the memory of
what he had done to her; he walked on, trembling with wonder and fear.
It was a kind of madness in his blood. It had taken possession of his
whole being--he would never again be the same! He stretched out his
arms as he walked down the street, because his emotions were greater
than he could bear.

Then suddenly, in the midst of the turmoil, a sight met his eyes which
brought him back to the world. Approaching him, about to pass him, was
an old man with a gray beard, stooping as he walked and carrying a
peddler's basket. The disguise was excellent, but it did not deceive
Samuel for an instant. He stood stock-still and cried in amazement:
"Charlie Swift!"

The peddler shot a quick glance at him. "Shut up!" he muttered; and
then he passed on, and left Samuel staring.

So with a sudden rush, a new set of emotions overwhelmed the boy. He
was only a week away from the burglary; and yet it was an age. And how
terrible it seemed--how almost incredible! And here was he, about to
marry the daughter of a millionaire--while his friend and confederate
was still skulking in the shadows, hiding from the police.

Of all the distressed people whom Samuel had met in the course of his
adventures, Charlie Swift was the only one whom he had not benefited.
And simply to set eyes upon him was to hear in his soul a new call.
How could he pursue his own gratifications while Charlie was left a
prey to wickedness?

The figure almost passed from sight while Samuel stood wrestling with
the problem. He shrunk from the task before him; he was afraid of
Charlie Swift, afraid of his cynical smile, and of his merciless
sneering. But his duty was clear before him--as clear as that of any
soldier, who in the midst of love and pleasure hears the bugle call.
He might not be able to do anything for Charlie. But he must try!

And so he turned and followed the old peddler to his home.




CHAPTER XX


"So you've let them turn you into a mission stiff!" said Charlie
Swift, when the two were seated in his room.

"A what?" exclaimed Samuel perplexed.

"A mission stiff," repeated the other. "One of the guys that gets
repentance!"

Samuel experienced a sudden chilling of the ardor with which he had
come into the room. The old grin was upon the other's face; and the
boy realized with a sudden sinking of the heart how hard and savage he
was. Finnegan was a babe in arms compared with Charlie Swift.

To convert him would be a real task, a test of one's fervor and
vision. Samuel resolved suddenly upon diplomacy.

"They've been very good to me," he said.

"I dare say," responded the other indifferently.

"And Dr. Vince is really a very good man," he went on.

"Humph!" commented the burglar; and then he added quickly, "You
haven't been telling him anything about me?"

Oh, no!" exclaimed the boy.

"Not a word?"

"Have you forgotten that I promised you?"

"That's all right," said Charlie, "only I just wanted to warn you. You
can tie up with the church guys if you feel like it--only don't
mention your lost brothers down in the pit. Just you remember that I
got some of the doctor's silver."

The boy gave a start. "Oh!" he exclaimed.

"Didn't you know that?" laughed the other.

"No, I didn't know it."

"What did you suppose I was doing all that time while you were
watching?"

Samuel said nothing for a minute. "Why did you pick out Dr. Vince?" he
asked suddenly.

"Him? Why not? I knew his house."

"But a clergyman! Does it seem quite fair?"

"Oh, that's all right," laughed the other. "He's got a-plenty. It
don't have to come out of his salary, you know."

"Why not?"

"Because, he's got a rich wife. You didn't suppose he lived in that
palace of a house on his own salary, did you?"

"I hadn't thought anything about it."

"Well, he's all right--he married one of the richest girls in town.
And she'll keep his nest feathered."

There was a pause. "Don't you think that Dr. Vince is a good man?"
asked Samuel.

"I don't know," said the other. "I've got no quarrel with him. But I
don't like his trade."

"Doesn't he do a great deal of good to people?"

"Maybe," said the other, shrugging his shoulders.

"To poor people?" persisted Samuel.

"I dare say," admitted Charlie. "But you'll notice it takes all the
sand out of them--makes them into beggars. And I ain't that sort."

"Why do you think he tries to help them?"

"Well, he gets paid for it, don't he?"

"But the other people in the church--the ones who pay the money. Why
do you think they do it?"

The burglar thought for a moment. "I reckon they do it to make
themselves feel good," he said.

"To make themselves feel good," repeated the other perplexed.

"Sure!" said the man. "You take one of those rich women--she's got a
lot of money that she never earned, and she spends all her life
amusing herself and ordering servants about. And all the time she
knows that most of the people--the people that do the work--are
suffering and dying. And she don't want to let that make her feel bad,
so she hires some fellow like your friend, the doctor, to preach to
'em--and maybe give 'em a turkey at Christmas. And that takes the
trouble off her mind. Don't you see?"

"Yes," said the other weakly. "I see."

"Or else," added Charlie, "take some of those smooth grafters they've
got up there--the men, I mean. They spend six days in the week cutting
other people's throats, and robbing the public. Don't you think it's
handy for them to know they can come on Sunday and drop a five-dollar-
bill in the plate, and square the whole account?"

Samuel sought for a reply to these cruel taunts. "I don't think you
put it quite fairly," he protested.

"Why not?" demanded the other.

"In the first place, men like that wouldn't go to church--"

Charlie stared at him. "What!" he exclaimed.

"No," said the boy.

"Why not?"

"Well, why should they care to go? And they wouldn't be welcome--"

Charlie burst into laughter. "You poor kid!" he exclaimed. "What have
you been doing up there at St. Matthew's, anyhow?"

"I'm the sexton's assistant," said Samuel gravely.

"Yes," said the other. "Evidently a sexton's assistant doesn't see
much of the congregation."

"I wish you'd explain," remarked the boy after a pause.

"I hardly know where to begin," replied the other. "They've such a
choice collection of crooks up there. Did you ever notice a little
pot-bellied fellow with mutton-chop whiskers--looks as if he was
eating persimmons all the time?"

"You mean Mr. Hickman?"

"Yes, that's the chap. He's one of the pillars of the church, isn't
he?"

"I suppose so," said Samuel. "He's one of the vestrymen."

"And did you ever hear of Henry Hickman before?"

"I know he's a famous lawyer; and I was told that he managed the
Lockman estate."

"Yes," said Charlie, "and I suppose you don't know what that means!"

"No," admitted Samuel, "I don't."

"It means," went on the other, "that he was old Lockman's right-hand
man, and had his finger in every dirty job that the old fellow ever
did for thirty years. And it means that he runs the business now, and
does all the crooked work that has to be done for it."

There was a pause. "For instance, what?" asked Samuel in a low voice.

"For instance, politics," said the other. "Steering the grafters off
the Lockman preserve. Getting the right men named by the machine, and
putting up the dough to elect them. Last year the Democrats got in, in
spite of all he could do; and he had to buy the city council
outright."

"What!" gasped the boy in horror.

"Sure thing," laughed Charlie--"there was an independent water company
trying to break in, and the Democrats were pledged to them. They say
it cost Hickman forty-five thousand dollars."

"But do you KNOW that?" cried the other.

"Know it, Sammy? Why everybody in town knows it. It was a rotten
steal, on the face of it."

Samuel was staring at him. "I can't believe it!" he exclaimed.

"Nonsense!" laughed the other. "Ask round a bit!" And then he added
quickly, "Why, see here--didn't you tell me you knew Billy Finnegan--
the barkeeper?"

"Yes, I know him."

"Well, then, you can go right to headquarters and find out. His boss,
John Callahan, was one of the supervisors--he got the dough. Go and
ask Finnegan."

"But will he tell?" exclaimed Samuel.

"I guess he'll tell," said Charlie, "if you go at him right. It's no
great secret--the whole town's been laughing about it."

Samuel was almost too shocked for words. "Do you suppose Dr. Vince
knows it?" he cried.

"He don't know much if he doesn't," was the other's reply.

"A member of his church!" gasped the boy.

"Oh, pshaw!" laughed the other. "You're too green, Sammy! What's the
church got to do with business? Why, look--there's old Wygant--another
of the vestrymen!"

"Miss Gladys' father, you mean?"

"Yes; old Lockman's brother-in-law. He's the other trustee of the
estate. And do you suppose there's any rascality he doesn't know
about?"

"But he's a reformer!" cried the boy wildly.

"Sure!" laughed Charlie. "He made a speech at the college commencement
about representative government; I suppose you read it in the Express.
But all the same, when the Democrats got in, his nibs came round and
made his terms with Slattery, the new boss; and they get along so well
it'll be his money that will put them in again next year."

"But WHY?" cried Samuel dazed.

"For one thing," said Charlie, "because he's got to have his man in
the State legislature, to beat the child-labor bill."

"The child-labor bill!"

"Surely. You knew he was fighting it, didn't you? They wanted to
prevent children under fourteen from working in the cotton mills.
Wygant sent Jack Pemberton up to the Capital for nothing at all but to
beat that law." Samuel sat with his hands clenched tightly. Before him
there had come the vision of little Sophie Stedman with her wan and
haggard face! "But why does he want the children in his mill?" he
cried.

"Why?" echoed Charlie. "Good God! Because he can pay them less and
work them harder. Did you suppose he wanted them there for their
health?"

There was a long pause. The boy was wrestling with the most terrible
specter that had yet laid hold upon him. "I don't believe he knows
it!" he whispered half to himself. "I don't believe it!"

"Who?" asked the other.

"Dr. Vince!" said the boy. And he rose suddenly to his feet. "I will
go and see him about it," he said.

"Go and see him!" echoed Charlie.

"Yes. He will tell me!"

Charlie was gazing at him with a broad grin. "I dare you!" he cried.

"I am going," said the boy simply; and the burglar slapped his thigh
in delight.

"Go on!" he chuckled. "Sock it to him, Sammy! And come back and tell
me about it!"




CHAPTER XXI


"Dr. Vince is at lunch," said the maid who answered the bell.

"Please tell him I must see him at once," said Samuel. "It's something
very important."

He went in and sat down in the library, and the doctor came, looking
anxious. "What is it now?" he asked.

And Samuel turned to him a face of anguish. "Doctor," he said, "I've
just had a terrible experience."

"What is it, Samuel?"

"I hardly know how to tell you," said the boy. "I know a man--a very
wicked man; and I went to him to try to convert him, and to bring him
into the church. And he laughed at me, and at the church, too. He said
there are wicked men in it--in St. Matthew's, Dr. Vince! He told me
who they are, and what they are doing! And, doctor--I can't believe
that you know about it--that you would let such things go on!"

The other was staring at him in alarm. "My dear boy," he said, "there
are many wicked men in the world, and I cannot know everything."

"Ah, but this is terrible, doctor! You will have to find out about it-
-you cannot let such men stay in the church."

The other rose and closed the door of his study. Then he drew his
chair close to Samuel. "Now," he said, "what is it?"

"It's Mr. Wygant," said Samuel.

"Mr. Wygant!" cried the other in dismay.

"Yes, Dr. Vince."

"What has he done?"

"Did you know that it was he who beat the child-labor bill--that he
named the State senator on purpose to do it?"

The doctor was staring at him. "The child-labor bill!" he gasped. "Is
THAT what you mean?"

"Yes, Dr. Vince," said Samuel. "Surely you
 didn't know that!"

"Why, I know that Mr. Wygant is very much opposed to the bill. He has
opposed it openly. He has a perfect right to do that, hasn't he?"'

"But to name the State senator to beat it, doctor!"

"Well, my boy, Mr. Wygant is very much interested in politics; and, of
course, he would use his influence. Why not?"

"But, Dr. Vince--it was a wicked thing! Think of Sophie!"

"But, my boy--haven't we found Sophie a place in Mr. Wygant's own
home?"

"Yes, doctor! But there are all the others! Think of the suffering and
misery in that dreadful mill! And Mr. Wygant pays such low wages. And
he is such a rich man--he might help the children if he would."

"Really, Samuel--" began the doctor.

But the boy, seeing the frown of displeasure on his face, rushed on
swiftly. "That's only the beginning! Listen to me! There's Mr.
Hickman!"

"Mr. Hickman!"

"Mr. Henry Hickman, the lawyer. He has done even worse things--"

And suddenly the clergyman clenched his hands. "Really, Samuel!" he
cried. "This is too much! You are exceeding all patience!"

"Doctor!" exclaimed the boy in anguish.

"It seems to me," the doctor continued, "that you owe it to me to
consider more carefully. You have been treated very kindly here--you
have been favored in more ways than one."

"But what has that to do with it?" cried the other wildly.

"It is necessary that you should remember your place. It is certainly
not becoming for you, a mere boy, and filling a subordinate position,
to come to me with gossip concerning the vestry of my church."

"A subordinate position!" echoed Samuel dazed. "But what has my
position to do with it?"

"It has a great deal to do with it, Samuel."

The boy was staring at him. "You don't understand me!" he cried. "I am
not doing this for myself! I am not setting myself up! I am thinking
of the saving of the church!"

"What do you mean--saving the church?"

"Why, doctor--just see! I went to reform a man; and he sneered at me.
He would not have anything to do with the church, because such wicked
men as Mr. Hickman were in it. He said it was their money that saved
them from exposure--he said--"

"What has Mr. Hickman done?" demanded the other quickly.

"He bribed the city council, sir! He bribed it to beat the water
bill."

Dr. Vince got up from his chair and began to pace the floor nervously.
"Tell me, doctor!" cried Samuel. "Please tell me! Surely you didn't
know that!"

The other turned to him suddenly. "I don't think you quite realize the
circumstances," said he. "You come to me with this tale about Mr.
Hickman. Do you know that he is my brother-in-law?"

Samuel clutched the arms of his chair and stared aghast. "Your
brother-in-law!" he gasped.

"Yes," said the other. "He is my wife's only brother."

Samuel was dumb with dismay. And the doctor continued to pace the
floor. "You see," he said, "the position you put me in."

"Yes," said the boy. "I see. It's very terrible." But then he rushed
on in dreadful anxiety: "But, doctor, you didn't know it. Oh, I'm
sure--please tell me that you didn't know it!"

"I didn't know it!" exclaimed the doctor. "And what is more, I don't
know it now! I have heard these rumors, of course. Mr. Hickman is a
man of vast responsibilities, and he has many enemies. Am I to believe
every tale that I hear about him?"

"No," said Samuel, taken aback. "But this is something that everyone
knows."

"Everyone!" cried the other. "Who is everyone? Who told it to you?"

"I--I can't tell," stammered the boy.

"How does he know it?" continued the doctor. "And what sort of a man
is he? Is he a good man?" "No," admitted Samuel weakly. "I am afraid
he is not."

"Is he a man who loves and serves others? A man who never speaks
falsehood--whom you would believe in a matter that involved your
dearest friends? Would believe him if he told you that I was a briber
and a scoundrel?"

Samuel was obliged to admit that Charlie Swift was not a man like
that. "Dr. Vince," he said quickly, "I admit that I am at fault. I
have come to you too soon. I will find out about these things; and if
they are true, I will prove them to you. If they are not, I will go
away in shame, and never come to trouble you again as long as I live."

Samuel said this very humbly; and yet there was a note of grim
resolution in his voice--which the doctor did not fail to note. "But,
Samuel!" he protested. "Why--why should you meddle in these things?"

"Meddle in them!" exclaimed the other. "Surely, if they are true, I
have to. You don't mean that if they were proven, you would let such
men remain in your church?"

"I don't think," said the doctor gravely, "that I can say what I
should do in case of anything so terrible."

"No," was Samuel's reply, "you are right. The first thing is to find
out the truth."

And so Samuel took his departure.

He went straight to his friend Finnegan.

"Hello!" exclaimed Finnegan. Then, "What about that job of mine?" he
asked with a broad grin.

"Dr. Vince says he will look out for you," was the boy's reply. "But
I'm not ready to talk about that yet. There's something else come up."

He waited until his friend had attended to the wants of a customer,
and until the customer had consumed a glass of beer and departed. Then
he called the bartender into a corner.

"Mr. Finnegan," he said, "I want to know something very important."

"What is it?" asked the other.

"Do you know Mr. Hickman--Henry Hickman, the lawyer?"

"He's not on my calling list," said Finnegan. "I know him by sight."

"I've heard it said that he had something to do with beating a water
bill in the city council. Did he?"

"You bet your life he did!" said the bartender with a grin.

"Is it true that he bought up the council?"

"You bet your life it's true!"

"And is it true that Mr. Callahan got some of the money?"

Finnegan glanced at the other suspiciously. "Say," he said, "what's
all this about, anyhow?"

"Listen," said Samuel gravely. "You know that Mr. Hickman is a member
of my church. And he's Dr. Vince's brother-in-law, which makes it more
complicated yet. Dr. Vince has heard these terrible stories, and you
can see how awkward it is for him. He cannot let such evil-doers go
unrebuked."

"Gee!" said the other. "What's he going to do?"

"I don't know," said Samuel. "He hasn't told me that. First, you see,
he has to be sure that the thing is true. And, of course, Mr. Hickman
wouldn't tell."

"No," said Finnegan. "Hardly!"

"And it isn't easy for the doctor to find out. You see--he's a
clergyman, and he only meets good people. But I told him I would find
out for him."

"I see," said Finnegan.

"What I want," said the boy, "is to be able to tell him that I heard
it from the lips of one of the men who got the money. I won't have to
say who it is--he'll take my word for that. Do you suppose Mr.
Callahan would talk about it?"

The bartender thought for a moment. "You wait here," he said. "The
boss has only stepped round the corner; and perhaps I can get the
doctor what he wants."

So Samuel sat down and waited; and in a few
 minutes John Callahan came in. He was a thick-set and red-faced
Irishman, good-natured and pleasant looking-not at all like the
desperado Samuel had imagined.

"Say, John," said Finnegan. "This boy here used to work for Bertie
Lockman; and he's got a girl works for the Wygants."

"So!" said Callahan.

"And what do you think," went on the other, "He heard old Henry
Hickman talking--he says you fellows held him up on that water bill."

"Go on!" said Callahan. "Did he say that?"

"He did," said Finnegan, without giving Samuel a chance to reply.

"Well," said the other, "he's a damned liar, and he knows it. It was a
dead straight proposition, and we hadn't a thing to do with it. There
was an independent water company that wanted a franchise--and it would
have given the city its water for just half. Every time I pay my water
bill I am sorry I didn't hold out. It would have been cheaper for me
in the end."

"He says it cost him sixty thousand," remarked Finnegan.

"Maybe," said the other. "You can't tell what the organization got.
All I know is that ten of us fellows in the council got two thousand
apiece out of it."

There was a pause. Samuel was listening with his hands clenched
tightly.

"Did he pay it to you himself?" asked Finnegan.

"Who, Hickman? No, he paid it to Slattery, and Slattery came here from
his office. Why, is he trying to crawl out of that part of it?"

"No, not exactly. But he makes a great fuss about being held up."

"Yes!" said Callahan. "I dare say! He's got his new franchise, and he
and the Lockman estate are clearing about ten thousand a month out of
it. And my two thousand was gone the week I got it--it had cost me
twice that to get elected--and without counting the free drinks. It's
a great graft, being a supervisor, ain't it?"

"Why did you do it then?" asked Samuel in a faint voice.

"I'll never do it again, young fellow," said the saloon keeper. "I'm
the Honorable John for the rest of my life, and I guess that'll do me.
And the next time old Henry Hickman wants his dirty work done, he can
hunt up somebody that needs the money more than me!"

Then the Honorable John went on to discuss the politics of
Lockmanville, and to lay bare the shameless and grotesque corruption
in a town where business interests were fighting. The trouble was,
apparently, that the people were beginning to rebel--they were tired
of being robbed in so many different ways, and they went to the
polls to find redress. And time and again, after they had elected
new men to carry out their will, the great concerns had stepped in
and bought out the law-makers. The last time it had been the unions
that made the trouble; and three of the last supervisors had been
labor leaders--"the worst skates of all," as Callahan phrased it.

Samuel listened, while one by one the last of his illusions were torn
to shreds. There had been a general scramble to get favors from the
new government of the town; and the scramblers seemed to include every
pious and respectable member of St. Matthew's whose name Samuel had
ever heard. There was old Mr. Curtis, another of the vestrymen, who
passed the plate every Sunday morning, and looked like a study of the
Olympian Jove. He wanted to pile boxes on the sidewalks in front of
his warehouse, and he had come to Slattery and paid him two hundred
dollars.

"And Mr. Wygant!" exclaimed Samuel, as a sudden thought came to him.
"Is it true that he is back of the organization?"

"Good God!" laughed Callahan. "Did you hear him say that?"

"Some one else told me," was the reply.

"Well," said the other, "the truth is that Wygant got cold feet before
the election, and he came to Slattery and fixed it. I know that, for
Slattery told me. We had him bluffed clean--I don't think we'd ever
have got in at all if it hadn't been for his money."

"I see!" whispered the boy.

"Oh, he's a smooth guy!" laughed the saloon keeper. "Look at that new
franchise got for his trolley road--ninety-nine years, and anything he
wants in the meantime! And then to hear him making reform speeches!
That's what makes me mad about them fellows up on the hill. They get a
thousand dollars for every one we get; but they are tip-top swells,
and they wouldn't speak to one of us low grafters on the street. And
they're eminent citizens and pillars of the church--wouldn't it make
you sick?"

"Yes," said Samuel in a low voice, "that's just what it does. It makes
me sick!"




CHAPTER XXII


Samuel now had his evidence; and he went straight back to Dr. Vince.
"Doctor," he said, "I am able to tell you that I know. I have heard it
from one of the men who got the money."

"Who is he?" asked the doctor.

"I could not tell you that," said the boy--"it would not be fair. But
you know that I am telling the truth. And this man told me with his
own lips that Mr. Hickman paid twenty thousand dollars to Slattery,
the Democratic boss, to be paid to ten of the supervisors to vote
against the other company's water bill."

There was a long pause; the doctor sat staring in front of him. "What
do you want me to do?" he asked faintly.

"I don't know," said Samuel. "Is it for me to tell you what is right?"

And again there was a pause.

"My boy," said the doctor, "this is a terrible thing for me. Mr.
Hickman is my wife's brother, and she loves him very dearly. And he is
a very good friend of mine--I depend on him in all the business
matters of the church.

"Yes," said Samuel. "But he bribed the city council."

"This thing would make a frightful scandal if it were known," the
other went on. "Think what a terrible thing it would be for St.
Matthew's!"

"It is much worse as it is," said the boy. "For people hear the story,
and they say that the church is sheltering evil doers."

"Think what a burden you place upon me!" cried the clergyman in
distress. "A member of my own family!"

"It is just as hard for me," said Samuel quickly.

"In what way?"

"On account of Mr. Wygant, sir."

"What of that?"

Samuel had meant to say--"He is to be my father-in-law." But at the
last moment some instinct told him that it might be best to let Miss
Gladys make that announcement at her own time. So instead he said, "I
am thinking of Sophie."

"It is not quite the same," said the doctor; and then he repeated his
question, "What do you want me to do?"

"Truly, I don't know!" protested the boy. "I am groping about to find
what is right."

"But you must have some idea in coming to me!" exclaimed the other
anxiously. "Do you want me to expose my brother-in-law and drive him
from the church?"

"I suppose," said Samuel gravely, "that he would be sent to prison.
But I certainly don't think that he should be driven from the church
at least not unless he is unrepentant. First of all we should labor
with him, I think."

"And threaten him with exposure?"

"I'll tell you, doctor," said the boy quickly. "I've been thinking
about this very hard; and I don't think it would do much good to
expose and punish any one. That only leads to bitterness and hatred--
and we oughtn't to hate any person, you know."

"Ah!" said the doctor with relief.

"The point is, the wicked thing that's been done. It's this robbing of
the people that must be stopped! And it's the things that have been
stolen!--Let me give you an example. To-day I met the man who came
here with me to rob your house; and I learned for the first time that
he had carried off some of your silver."

"Yes," said the other.

"And the man asked me to say nothing about what he had done, and I
promised. I felt about him just as you do about your brother-in-law--I
wouldn't denounce him and put him in jail. But I saw right away that I
must do one thing--I must make him return the things he had stolen!
That was right, was it not, doctor?"

"Yes," said Dr. Vince promptly, "that was right."

"Very well," said the boy; "and the same thing is true about Mr.
Hickman. He has robbed the people. He has got a franchise that enables
him and the Lockman estate to make about ten thousand dollars a month
out of the public. And they must give up that franchise! They must
give up every dollar that they have made out of it! That is the whole
story as I see it--nothing else counts but that. You can make all the
fuss you want about bribery and graft, but you haven't accomplished
anything unless you get back the stolen money."